Who Done It
by 44q
Summary: There's been a murder at the Mayor's party, detectives Buffy Summers and Liam Angelus are on the case. AU, humans story.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One:

There was a dead body.

There was a small trickle of blood that still came from the gunshot wound, it was blackened by powder, just above his nose. The eyes were startled, face still in a half smile, as if he'd been about to greet someone when he wound up with a bullet in his face.

Shell casings were all around the area, around the body.

Detective Buffy Summers stood over the decased, careful about keeping her boots out of the bright red puddle that was around the dead body. She wasn't worried about getting the blood on her other than not wanting bloody tracks all over the area as she tried to work the scene. The coppery scent of blood was in her nose as she croched down, lifting one of the casings with the end of her pen. "9MM. That's a rather big gun to bring into a party," she said.

Buffy looked around at the guests who were still milling just outsdie of the area. "All of these, only one hole in the victim. And no one saw a thing?"

"They were all in the bathroom," said a male voice.

Buffy saw a pair of shoes stop next to hers. They were black, shiny and without question expensive.

Buffy knew the voice, felt a shiver run through her body at it. She did her best to shove it away. "Angelus." She began standing to face him.

Detective Liam Angelus. He was the department's golden boy, and he was the bane of her existence.

"What are you doing here, Angel?"

His brown eyes looked past her and at the surroundings. He took in the party decorations, the glasses about the room. "I was told you might need a little help on this. Nothing more than that."

"I can handle things, thank you."

"One of the guests as the Mayor's big party turns up dead? The press is going to be all over this, and you need my help." Angel reached out a hand before he could stop himself. He pushed a strand of her blonde blocks that had come loose from the ponytail she habitually wore off of her forehead.

Buffy managed-just barely-to keep herself from slapping his large hand away from her, reminding herself that they were practically center stage right now, in the public eye. The last thing she needed was a picture of her doing that on the front page of the local papers in the morning. "Fine," she growled. Pulling out a notebook, she started filling him in. "The victims name is William Pratt. He was shot once and at point blank range. The weapon, a 9MM pistol. So far, that is about as much as I know. There's uniforms taking names and searching the property. It was a big party."

Angel's eyes slowly took in the scene, the assembled guests. "Who was our victim killed with?"

"No one," she said. "Maybe he was a friend of one of the Mayor's children or something." She stepped back when a man, dressed in all black, walked up. "Hey, it's about time you people showed up. Is it really that busy down at the morgue?"

Ethan Rayne made a noise at her, then sat his black bag and pulled out something that looked like a long meat thermometer. He slid it gently into the victim's side, down into his liver. After the reading, the numbers popping up on the front, he pulled it out and wiped it with a sterile alcohol swab. "Time of Death was around 10:30. I would say the Cause of Death is rather easy to establish with this one."

"Well, I didn't think he had been stabbed with an ice pick. I need everything you can get though, Rayne. This is a hot case, press is already gathering outside. I want to his blood tox screen as soon as possible."

"You'll get it as soon as I get it," Ethan said, standing up. "Why aren't you off on some date tonight, young woman? Beautiful night for it."

"What? You don't know? Good homicide detectives don't have personal lives, or romantic dinners. Those are for normal people." She patted the man on the back. "Soon as you can, okay?"

He waved his men in and the rest of the CSI crew as she and Angel stepped back. "I want to interview Harmony tonight." She turned and looked at the tall man beside her. "I suppose you want in on that."

It was more a statement then a question, but he answered it anyway. "Yeah."

"Great," she rolled her eyes and started to walk away to where she could see the Mayor and his family standing, just outside the line of sight of the press.

Angel stood and watched her for a moment, wondering why the hell he couldn't get her out of his head. She was beautiful, yes, with long hair that seemed to curl with a mind of it's own, defying rubber bands and bobby pins when it came to taming. Her eyes were strange, a hypnotic green. On top off it all she had a body that stirred a man no matter how many times he'd been stirred before.

And they two of them had had one incredible weekend, two unforgettable days and nights where he'd done his best to purge this need he had for her from his system.

It hadn't worked. He could still taste her on his tongue, feel her under his hands. He dreamed about her at night, waking with sweat beading on his forehead and her name on his lips. He'd catch a whiff of her scent, spicy and warm, and he couldn't help but look for her, watch her. He wanted her again, in his bed, under him, crying out his name in need and release.

He took a deep breath and lifted his hand amazed to see it shaking slightly. He had to get over this need for her. He could still remember dropping her off outside her apartment. She'd brushed a kiss across his lips, thanked him for the fun weekend and walked away without a second glance. As if it hadn't meant a thing to her. And she'd stayed away from him since, avoiding him as if he had the plague. Her attitude when forced to be with him was always antagonistic.

Buffy turned to look back at him and he quickly blanked his thoughts, hurrying to catch up with her. He could play the game just as well as she could.

* * *

"Harmony, how long did you know the victim?" Buffy asked, jumping right into the interview. They had borrowed the Mayor's study for the interview. Leather chairs and a long black leather couch grouped off to one side of the huge desk that otherwise dominated the room. Thousands of books graced the oak shelves. Expensive antique objects d'art were everywhere. The room reeked rich and made her nervous.

"Um, we met at Daddy's offices about six months ago. He works-worked there. Why would anyone want to kill him?"

"That's what we're trying to find out. You two were close?"

"We were in love. We were going to be married." The tears started streaming again and Buffy flinched at the wail that came from the pretty girl.

Angel picked up the glass of water he'd gotten her and handed it to her. "Then I'm sure William would want you to do everything in your power to help us find his killer, don't you?"

Harmony gulped audibly, wiping black mascara from under her eyes with the square of linen. She nodded as she swallowed again, visibly calming herself down.

"You and the vic-er-William were engaged?"

"Oh, well, not officially yet. But it was only until he got the money thing straightened out. As soon as he did that, well, then he was going to get me a ring and make it official." Harmony folded the handkerchief Angel had given her earlier into a tiny square, opened it and started again.

"Money thing?" Buffy asked, her eyes sharpening.

"He owed some guy some money, um, that guy that owns the Casino north of town. Willy something."

Buffy knew who she was talking about. Willy was a hustler turned con artist turned Casino owner and all around scum bag. She had had cause to invade his privacy on more than one occasion and she by far wasn't his favorite person.

"Some money? Or a lot of money?"

"Oh, um, he didn't talk about those things with me." She sniffed and used the handkerchief again. "He always said I shouldn't worry my pretty head over things like that. That it would give me wrinkles." Huge tears glistened in her big eyes that she turned Angel's way batting eyelashes to let one tear slide down her pale cheek. "He's gone now, and I'm all alone."

"Uh, yeah, Harm?" Buffy called the attention back to her. "Can you think of anyone who'd want to hurt William? Anyone at all?"

"His ex-girlfriend. That slut. She didn't want to let go of my William, said she'd get even with him for dumping her. Drusilla Keeble." She watched as Buffy wrote the name in her notebook. "I bet she did it, she killed him."

Buffy almost groaned out loud as she saw the sobs starting to build in the blonde again. They weren't going to get much more out of her tonight. But she had one more question. "Where were you when he was shot, Harmony?"

"Spike-William asked me to get him some water, said he wasn't feeling too well. I went to hunt down one of the servers. That's when I heard the shots."

"Okay, Harmony, and thank you. If we have any more questions, we'll be in touch."

"You'll get them, won't you, the killer?" Harmony asked as she stood up to leave the room.

Angel stood with her and led her to the door. Buffy could hear him making all the right noises, saying all the right things. It was one of his best attributes, besides being a top detective, he always knew the right thing to say.

Unlike her.

Damn.

She didn't need the memories of that weekend in her head right now. That unforgettable, intensely passionate weekend. She hadn't known what to say to him when he dropped her off, had waited to hear him say he wanted to see her again, but he hadn't. He hadn't called, he hadn't come by her place. He hadn't done anything since that morning except be a thorn in her side. But oh, for that one brief, beautiful weekend, she'd known passion and need and desire. She'd known what it felt like to have a man want you with everything in him, look at you with eyes that seemed to sear the skin and reach deep inside to send a girl's heart fluttering madly. She'd known the power of seeing a man bursting with need for her, of hearing him groan that need when she touched him, when she kissed him. The power of making him lose control with her hands, her mouth, bringing him pleasure so intense he'd turned almost wild, throwing her to the bed and taking her until her nails scoured his back.

Buffy felt the blush suffuse her face and cleared her throat. This was work and she wasn't going to think of that weekend anymore. It was over and done, just as they were.

Angel turned, and for one second, he saw in her eyes the same thing he'd seen that weekend, the woman she kept hidden so well any other time. He took two steps forward and saw the blankness fall in front of her eyes like a shutter slamming shut.

"Well, I think we need to pay a call on a few people. That is if you plan on tagging along?" Her tone and face held no expression as she waited for an answer. He was a complication she couldn't afford but a part of her hoped that he'd say yes.

"Can't think of anything else I'd like to do at almost midnight but go and get people out of bed. After you?" He held open the door waiting until she left her card with the Mayor and checked in with the CSI's. She stopped and gave the officer in charge some instructions and then got in her car. Using her radio, she got addresses for both names that Harmony had given her.

* * *

Drusilla lived in the city and worked as a waitress down at a small dive close to the harbor.

Willy had a swank joint outside of town where the rich folks with "new" money lived. But she had an idea she'd find him at his casino playing lord and master and keeping an eye on things.

"What's your gut say?" she asked Angel as she put the car in reverse to back out of the mess of cops vehicles and party vehicles still surrounding the huge home.

"Will is going to be easy to find. His place don't close until it has to. I say we go with the ex girlfriend first."

"My thoughts exactly." She wheeled between two cars leaving about an inch of spare room on either side and made it through to the gates. Looking over at Angel, she had to grin. He had his eyes closed and she swore she'd heard an amen coming from his side of the car just seconds ago. "You can look now," she said, putting it into drive.

Angel cautiously opened his eyes and then caught sight of the grin on her face. Her smile, the way it lit up her face, caught at his gut. "You know, that's a good look for you."

Buffy spared him a quick look before paying attention to her driving. "What's a good look?"

"Smiling. I don't think I've seen you do to much of it recently. Not since that..."

"I don't want to talk about that," she jumped in, interrupting him. "It was a mistake. It shouldn't have happened but it did. And now it's over so we can just forget about it."

Angel saw the way her body tightened, the white knuckled grip she had on the steering wheel. Everything about her body language said the subject was off limits but he hadn't gotten to where he was by doing what he should do. "Why was it a mistake?"

"Jesus, Angel, can't you drop it. It's in the past, okay?" Buffy shrugged her shoulders to get rid of the stress that was starting to creep up into her neck.

"What if I don't want it in the past? Dammit, Buf, I miss you, I miss the way we used to be. We were friends as well as co workers and we liked each other. That weekend was..." He stopped when she swerved off to the side of the road.

"Either you drop it or you can call a car to come and get you and I'll do this on my own." She didn't want to hear what he thought of their weekend, she didn't want to know if he regretted it. She didn't and couldn't regret it herself even though she now couldn't be in the same room with him without her hands going sweaty and her thigh muscles weakening as she remembered what he did to her.

"It's dropped," he said flatly, meeting her stare head on. For now, he thought, gazing into those bewitching eyes that narrowed with her glare.

They got to where Drusilla Keeble worked, a place that could only loosely be termed as a restaurant. It was a dive located off one of the main streets downtown. Just far enough off for visitors to not notice and strangers to be wary.

They walked in the front door, noting right away how half of the very few patron there slunk down in their seats, making them as cops from the start.

"If you'd keep your face out of the media, maybe we wouldn't be so recognizable here," Buffy hissed at Angel as she made her way to a booth.

"Hey, I can't help it if the press seems to like me."

"They just like your pretty boy looks and smooth smile," she tossed at him as she slid into a cracked leather booth seat. The table was slightly sticky and stained with rings from cups and glasses of old. She almost laughed as Angel gave the seat a disgusted look before slipping partway in and sitting gingerly.

Two menus were slapped down in front of them, two cups rattled in saucers and thumped on the table. "Coffee?"

Buffy looked up long legs encased in pantyhose under a pink polyester waitress uniform with a white frilly apron. Both were marked with unrecognizable stains. A name tag was pinned on the straining material across large breasts. The name tag read: Drusilla. This was their girl. She took a second look when she got to the girl's face. Drusilla was a looker, pitch black hair that flickered from the light of the bug stained fixtures, misty eyes that held a hint of sadness and a whole barrel of streetwise, full lips painted red and with skin that was pale perfection.

Buffy hated her on sight just out of principle.

"Is it drinkable?" Angel asked.

"About the only thing in this dive that's palatable." Drusilla smiled at Angel as she filled his cup, keeping it at 100 watts as she slopped some coffee into Buffy's.

"You're rusilla Keeble?" Buffy asked, moving the cup out of the small puddle of coffee on the table and getting out her badge. "We need to talk with you, take a break."

"Oh, no!" Drusilla banged the coffee pot down on the table hard enough it should have broken, making both detectives flinch. "What'd that bitch say I do this time?"

"Who would that be?" Angel asked carefully, scooting further over in the booth.

Drusila plopped down in the empty space. "That hussy girl, Harmony, the Mayor's kid. She thinks I want that two timer back and keeps sending you guys out after me, trying to frame me for something. It ain't my fault he keeps sniffing back around here." She turned and looked at Angel, batting mile long eyelashes at him. "Can you blame him?"

"Are you talking about William Pratt?" Buffy got out her notebook and pen.

"Yeah, him. Spike. That no good scum. He wasn't even enough for me. That jerk got himself in trouble and he wanted me to hook to get him out. I ain't never hooked and I won't start now."

"What kind of trouble was he in?"

She looked at Buffy then back at Angel. She held up long fingered hands tipped with lethal red painted nails. "What's this all about? What they saying I did now?"

"William Pratt was shot tonight, Miss Keeble. We need to know where you were at approximately 10 p.m."

"He's dead?" Those eyes glittered as she stared back to Buffy.

"Yeah, he's dead."

"Oh," she said quietly, looked down at her lap, her fingers playing with a frayed hem on her apron. When she looked up, her eyes were hard. "I wish I could say I was sorry. I mean that's what you're supposed to say when someone dies. I'm sorry. But I'm not."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two:

"We need to know where you were, Miss Keeble," Angel urged quietly.

"Here." She ran one red tipped finger across the table, her eyes watching it. "I got on shift at 7 p.m. tonight. Had fifteen at around nine. My lunch breaks coming up. You can't think I had anything to do with it?"

"We have to ask," Buffy told her.

"Spike was a taker." Her hand closed into a tight fist and she dropped it into her lap. "He'd take until he took it all and then he'd move on to the next and the next. When I wouldn't hook for him, he dumped me. Said I didn't love him if I'd let some shark's guys rough him up over some money that I could get for him easily."

Angel patted the hand that she had fisted. "Who was the shark he was involved with?"

"Willy Barr. Spike liked to play poker, got himself enough cash somehow to get into one of the high stake games that they have up at the casino." She smirked. "Spike couldn't play poker worth a damn. Had too many of them ... tells? Is that what they call it?"

Angel nodded.

"Anyway, he got wiped out and I guess Willy realized what a sucker he was and gave him some credit. Spike lost it all." She shook her head, not in pity but in wonder at the stupidity of it all.

"And he couldn't pay it back." Buffy picked up her coffee and took a drink. "Do you know how much?"

"Fifty grand." Drusilla smiled as Buffy almost choked. "Yeah, I did about the same thing when I found out. Couldn't believe that anyone could be such of an idiot to get that far into it."

"When was the last time you saw him, Willi-Spike?"

"Hmm, must've been about two weeks ago." She stood and took the rag off the side of her apron, wiping up the coffee spill and picking up the pot. "He came sneaking back here when the rich bitch let him off his leash. Wanted a quickie for old time's sake. I told him what he could do with his old time and he left. I've not seen him since."

Buffy took out her card and handed it to the beautiful waitress "If you think of anything, anything at all, you can reach either myself or Detective Angelus at that number."

The smile the raven haired beauty gave Angel was of the cat who ate the cream. "Detective Angelus, is it? I'll make sure I hold on to this card."

Buffy rolled her eyes behind the girl's back and watched as Angel preened in the attention, smiling and holding out his hand as he too rose. She took some money out of her coat pocket and threw it on the table, more than enough to cover the coffee and tip. And then ignoring the two, she started out of the diner.

* * *

Angel caught up before she got half way to the car. "Hey, wait up."

"I didn't want to interrupt your moment," she snarled at him, jealousy eating at her.

"Hey, just because you're not interested..." Before he could finish the sentence, she'd knocked him backwards and into an alley pushing him against the brick wall of a closed dry cleaner.

"We aren't talking about that," she growled at him, punching her finger into his chest. "Remember?"

"Fine," he growled right back, his tone matching hers. He knocked her finger away and grabbed her arms, twisting and pushing her against the wall he was just backed up against. "We won't talk about it." His lips came down, capturing hers before she could evade them.

For one instant, shock kept her still. And then all those feelings that she'd kept tamped down, passion, lust, pure heat, roared to the surface. Her mouth didn't surrender under the rough attack of his, it provoked, biting and twisting, opening so that her tongue could duel with his.

He felt her response and it enflamed him even more. Angel grabbed her hard, dragging her against his body before slamming them both against the wall. He held her there, his hands groping under the leather jacket she wore, feeling the cool cotton of her shirt over the taut flesh beneath. His hands filled with the soft globes of her breasts, such a beautiful contrast to the rest of her. But it wasn't enough, he wanted to feel her hot skin in his hands.

Buffy felt his hands tugging at her shirt and sucked in her stomach as it came untucked. Then his fingers were on her skin, moving over her ribs, the calloused tips rough against her sensitive flesh. Her bra was pushed up, the band at the bottom rubbing against nipples already hardened by his touch. She shivered, a little at the chill but more because of the need that pulsed through her, a need she hadn't felt since that weekend. And when he finally captured the naked beauty of her breasts, she felt her knees give in pleasure, held up only by the pressure of his hips against her own. His hands were cold on her hot skin, as they molded and shaped her softness.

His lips tore from hers, his breathing harsh in the silence surrounding them. He stared down at her, taking in the picture of her eyes, green in passion, her lips swollen from his kisses. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair mussed and curling riotously around her face. Her head was thrown back, her back arched to push her sweet breasts further into his capturing hands.

He noticed the smell, not the intoxicating scent of her arousal he'd expected, but the harsh smell of rotting garbage that sat in the dumpster next to them. It penetrated the fog of need that had surrounded them. He couldn't do this here, tear at her clothing and rut with her like a dog in heat. He pulled her bra back down gently, stepping back as she looked at him in confusion.

The confusion didn't last, emotions swam across her face before finally the control that she used as a shield slammed down, shutting him out. He held out his hand, trying to stop her from moving after she'd pulled down her clothing.

"Wait, it's not what you think. I want you. You don't know how much I want you," he said with a derisive laugh. "But we can't, not here..."

Buffy walked around his hand. Her posture stiff with a don't touch me attitude, she stalked to the car. How could she have let him do this to her again. He touched her and she melted. She'd have gone down in the muck in the alley and willingly allowed him, no she had to be honest at least with herself. She'd have taken him down into the filth in that alley and made love to him willingly. What did that say about her? That he affected her so physically that she'd do anything to have his hands on her body. She cringed with shame inside. Outside, she was cool as she clicked off the locks on the car and opened her door. She stared at him across the roof of the car. "If you're going with me, get in the car."

* * *

There was an icy silence in the car on the drive to the casino, a silence that Angel wasn't sure how to break. She hadn't taken the time to fix her hair, hair mussed from his hands. It flowed around her face in waves that brought back memories. Her hair seemed to have a life of its own, curling around her body, caressing his skin as she rode him or lay under him, her body straining against his own as they sought that same intense pleasure. Now, her hair beckoned his hand and he found himself almost reaching out to her. The only thing stopping him was the knowledge that he'd probably pull back a stump in the mood she was in right now. And she'd be right. They had a case to finish. But when it was done, this time, he would find a way around that huge wall she'd built. Or he'd knock the damn thing down. There was something between them, something that he damn well wanted to explore, whether she was willing or not.

Buffy pulled into the casino parking lot, the neon lights coming from the building making her head lights superfluous. She pulled up close to the doors, ignoring the valet who came forward. Instead she turned to him. "This is my show."

He nodded. "No problem."

Her eyes narrowed for an instant as if she could bore her will into the man who seemed to be able to steal it at his own whim. Then she got out of the car. She flashed her badge at the valet, staring him down. "It stays right there," she said, indicating her car. "Or when I come out, I'll come looking for you."

The valet backed off, his hands out. He went back to his stand, mumbling under his breath words she couldn't hear. And for some reason, it made her feel better.

Opening the doors into the Casino was like opening the doors into another world. A world full of lights and whistles, chimes and dings, shouts of triumph and moans of despair. There were people everywhere, some dressed to the nines, tuxes and floor length gowns that brushed against people dressed in jeans and tee shirts. People laughed and talked, cursed and cried.

Buffy walked in and ignored it all, seeking out the first person she could to get to what she wanted. She grabbed a man dressed in the Casino's uniform of black shirt and pants, a bright white nametag on his chest that read simply, Gunn.

"Gunn," she said softly, making him lean forward to be able to hear her. She flipped her badge out, keeping it low so that it remained between the two of them. "I need to speak to your boss. Get him for me and I won't have to flash this out for everyone to see."

Gunn went to a phone against a wall and spoke into it briefly, looking nervously back at where she waited, her eyes calm and steady as she looked around the casino. He was back quickly, standing at his post while a man in a black suit, his shirt and tie the same dapper shade of gray, hurried forward, his hand out.

"Detective, what can we do to help you?"

She ignored the hand and stared up at the man. "Where's your boss?"

"He's busy," he dropped his hand. "I am his personal assistant, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. What can I do to help you, Detective?"

"I need to speak with your boss, Wesy." Buffy watched as his eyes grew cold at the nickname. "Now, we can do this here, nice and civilized, or I can have him taken downtown and we can do it in a nice interrogation room. Either way, I will have a conversation with the man." Angel started to step forward and she turned hard eyes toward him, the hint of a warning clearly evident.

"I'm afraid, Detective, that..."

"It's okay, Wes." Willy Barr said, stepping out of an elevator just behind the man. "I know the good girl, we're old friends. Ain't that right, Buffy?"

"Yeah, Willy," Buffy said, stressing the familiarity. "See, Wesy, it's okay." She smacked the man lightly on the cheek with her badge wallet, ignoring his scowl. "So, Willy, where you want to do this, here or downtown?"

"My office?" he asked, maintaining the same light hearted repartee that they had started.

He led the way to his private elevator and she watched as he hit the button. When the car came, she got in first, followed by Angel. Just as the doors closed, sirens went off, and a scream could be heard from the other side of the casino.

Willy growled and grabbed a phone on the side of the car. He spoke into it rapidly and then hung up. "Damn slots are paying out left and right tonight. That's the sixth machine to go over."

"Life's rough all over."

The doors opened into an office unlike anything she'd ever seen before. A glass wall that ran the entire length of the west side of the office overlooked the casino, giving them a bird's eye view of almost the entire establishment. The rest of the room was decorated befitting a man of his stature. Chrome and glass were predominant, and with black leather furniture and a desk the size of a lake, Buffy decided it was a room meant to impress.

Too bad the man wasn't.

She sat in the chair she was waved to, declining his offer of refreshments. "This isn't a social call. My partner and I are here about a man by the name of William Pratt."

Willy sat behind his desk, his fingers steepled and tapping against his chin, making the double chin under it wag slightly. "RSpike? What does that low life have to do with me?"

"We hear he owes you some money. Quite a bit of money, actually." Buffy sat forward slightly, watching the man intently.

"Yeah. The idiot got himself involved in high stakes Texas Hold Em. He got cleaned out and wanted a line of credit. It was a business decision to grant him that credit. Can I help it if he can't play poker?" Willy smiled easily. "He asked for some time to get the money together, with interest accrued of course. Again, a business decision to give him that time."

"Not a very smart one this time." She watched the man as she spoke the words, watched his eyes for even a flicker that he knew. And saw nothing but confusion.

"What are you talking about?"

"Spike-William Pratt was shot tonight," Angel said, speaking up for the first time.

"Shot? And you think I had something to do with it?"

"Did you?" Angel asked, intentionally baiting the man.

"Hell no. Is he dead?" Willy looked from Buffy to Angel, his expression changing from irritation to annoyance to just plain pissed off.

"Yeah, he's dead."

"And you think I did it? God, woman. You know me, all those times you run me in for something, was it ever violent? No, running drugs, shop lifting, maybe some B & E, but nothing heavy. I never carried. You know that or I couldn't run this place. Besides, him dead leaves me out a pile of money."

"Then play me straight here. You knew him, you knew who he was when he came in that night to play, didn't you?" she pushed, she wanted to know exactly what this slime knew. He'd had a reason for granting that credit and then for giving him time to pay it back. She knew he did.

"Yeah, I remembered him from the streets. We didn't run together, but I'd seen him. He wanted in the game, asked me himself. He had the stake so I agreed."

"And when he lost all of it, the original stake? Why grant him credit? That's not like you." Buffy watched the small man, trying to read him.

"He was a patron of my establishment. He asked for a line of credit. The run we did on him came back clear. It was a business decision." Willy shrugged his shoulders. "A bad one, as it seems, but that's the breaks sometimes in business."

"Oh, come on. Fifty thousand's not just a bad break. That's a huge sum of money. You can't tell me it didn't make you mad when he came whining to you, telling you he couldn't pay the money back."

"Fifty thousand may seem like a lot to a couple of cops, but that's won and lost here every night," Willy shrugged again, a mean smile on his face.

"What do one of those quarter slot machines pay out? Five thousand? Ten? You were pissed off on the way up here because another paid out. And you're telling me that with Pratt, it was just bad business?" Buffy pushed, and she pushed hard. She didn't want to take him downtown. He'd lawyer up in a second if she tried it. This was there one shot to talk to him, to get information from him, without counsel fucking up the works.

"Okay, so maybe he pissed me off some, but why'd I want to kill him. He said he was getting the money, plus the interest. He said he had something in the wind. That Spike, he always had some scheme. He told me I'd have it by next week."

"And you believed him? Knowing him from the streets, you knew what he was like and you actually believed him?"

"There are circumstances a person can get into where it isn't in their best interest to lie, if you know what I mean. He told me he was going to be sittin' pretty." Willyy put his hands down on his desk and leaned forward. "He knew the consequences of crossing me. I gave him til next week. I had no reason to kill him."

"He didn't tell you what it was?" Buffy sat back in her chair, seemingly at ease, but her eyes were trained.

"If I know Spike, it wasn't legal." Willy stood, signaling an end to their conversation.

"One last question," Angel said, standing as well.

"Fine," Willy said impatiently.

"You got a permit for that piece you slipped into your desk when you sat down?"

At that, Buffy just smiled.

Willy sank back down in his chair. "You know I can't carry a weapon in this state."

"Yeah, we do know that. So if I open that drawer, am I gonna find the piece my partner here mentioned?"

Willy eyed them both, searching their faces. "Okay, listen. Spike said he was going to be getting a pay off, something big. He said it was going to set him up for a long time, but he'd have to leave town for a while."

"From who?" Angel asked.

"He didn't say, only that this guy was a sucker. And that either way it went, he'd be rolling in the dough before long." Willy looked up. "And that's all I know. Honest."

Buffy stared him down for a second and then rose. "Okay. Ditch the piece. If I have to come back here and I see it, I'm running you in and closing you down. Got it?"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it. Now get out of my joint, you make the cliental nervous." He keyed the code into the elevator but didn't see them out. Instead he went back to his desk and sat, taking a big white handkerchief out of his pocket and wiping his face with it. "Fucking cops," he muttered before picking up the phone to call down to make sure they left.

* * *

Buffy heard the wall phone ring as they walked away from the elevator and headed across the red and gold swirled carpet towards the wide front doors. To her left she could hear a croupier, his voice pitched high to be heard above the milling masses, "New shooter coming out, folks. Place your bets!" To her right was the constant sound of coins clinking and rattling, slot machine handles being pulled. The chimes of the machines as they sang to the person using it was melodic and catchy. A roulette wheel spun, the ratcheting noise of the wheel spinning, the whirling of the ball as it made it's way around the wheel, the excited noises of the people who won and lost, all were lost on her as she ran what they had learned through her head.

By the time they reached the car, she was smiling.

"Care to tell me what has you so happy all of a sudden?" Angel asked carefully.

"We need to check out Pratt's apartment. I'm betting we'll find out that he was blackmailing someone." Buffy got in her car after giving the valet she'd bullied earlier a smile.

"Who?"

"We figure that out and I think we've got our murderer." She put the car in gear and they headed back across town.

William Pratt's apartment was in an older section of town, not dilapidated as yet, but slowly going to seed. Most of the people in his building were still up.

Buffy got a hold of the super and they got into his apartment. It was an utter pigsty. Half empty food containers littered the floor and coffee table, unopened mail spilled across the table and onto the floor. Ashtrays were full, the stale smell of cigarette smoke and rotten food pungent in the closed up rooms.

Buffy walked in, waving a hand in front of her face. "Geesh, Spike, would it have killed you to clean up every once in a while." Her face twisted in a grimace, she grabbed a pair of latex gloves out of her pocket and pulled them on.

"I've seen you at a crime scene where the victim had his head bashed open and blood and brains were everywhere. You didn't even flinch. This bugs you?" Angel asked, amazed. He pulled on his own gloves and picked up the mail that was on the floor.

"Everybody's got a problem spot," she said, blowing out a long breath as she saw flies buzzing around on some of the uncovered food. "Places like this are mine."

"I can do this if you want," Angel offered.

"No. I'm fine." She swallowed audibly.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three:

"I'm going to check out the bedroom."

"Okay," Angel said, flipping through the stack of mail that he had picked up. He counted at least three unopened phone bills, two on his electric, the last one with a big "Last Notice" stamped across it in red ink. "There has to be at least three months worth of unopened mail here," he called out. He looked around at the mess. "I'm betting he never brought the Mayor's daughter here."

Buffy walked out of the bedroom, a lacy bra hanging off a pen she held carefully. "I'm betting he brought someone here. But this isn't near big enough to fit Harmony's um..."

"Bountiful bosoms?" Angel supplied, a smile on his face.

"Funny. But true. And I don't think it belonged to Drusilla either."

"No, oh, look at the tag. Cosabella, not cheap. Certainly not something Pratt bought." Angel reached over and picked up the lacy, red silk bra.

"How do you know so much about women's underwear?" Buffy stared at him, seeing him turn red.

"Three sisters who leave magazines scattered all over the house." He dropped the bra back in her hands and started to go back to the kitchen. And tried to ignore the spurt of laughter he heard come from her. "Do you have any idea what you're looking for?" he called back to her.

"I think I just found it. Our boy kept a diary. And he was really prolific." She walked up, the book open in her hands. "Listen to this: She showed up at my door. I don't even know how she knew where I lived. I never even brought Harmony here, never. I never brought any of them here. This bitch knew though. She walked in here like she owned the place, looking down that stuck up nose of hers. She said she knew my plans, knew what I had in store for the old man. And then she stripped. I couldn't believe it. Here's this tight ass bitch who wouldn't even look at me before, in my apartment dressed only in this red silk number. Anyways, she told me to forget it. That if I didn't go through with it, she'd fuck me whenever I wanted. Like I'd give up all that money for a bitch. But I don't look a gift cow in the milk. So I fucked her... Pig," Buffy said under her breath as she finished reading. She skimmed a few more pages. "He never gives names. Except for Harm's."

"But you know, don't you," Angel said. They both knew. "We need to get a team in here. I bet her prints are all over this place."

Buffy made the call and they waited until the CSI's showed up, leaving a uniform at the door while they did their work. "You find anything probative, anything at all, you call me," she told the point tech.

"Morgue?" Angel asked.

"Yeah." Buffy left the apartment, her mind running. She had the scent, now all she needed was the evidence to pull her in. And that meant waiting for the crime scene guys to do their jobs.

The drive to the morgue was quick in the early morning traffic. Parking was even easier. She pulled up front and got out, locking the doors behind her and dropping the keys in the pocket of her jacket. Pulling her badge, she pulled open the lobby doors and flashed it at the guard standing inside the booth. He waved her past the metal detector and she waited for Angel.

It took a few minutes to get buzzed back to the autopsy rooms, the front desk was closed and empty. By the time they got back there, she was looking around nervously. All the black bags made her nervous. She wasn't some screaming ninny who jumped at every sound, but looking at those bags, she always wondered what would happen if everyone in them sat up at the same time and came back to life. Impatient with herself, she shook off the thought.

Giles greeted them at the door to the main autopsy room. William Pratt was center stage, his face pulled forward, his skull opened. Buffy could see the Y incision cut, already made and stitched back up. She could also see just the hint of grayish white in a stainless steel bowl sitting on a tray.

"Well, your boy was in sorry shape," Giles said, walking toward the body.

Buffy grabbed a mask and put it over her face as she came towards the steel table that held the body. "What do you mean? I mean, except for the obvious, he doesn't look too bad to me." She elbowed Angel when he snorted.

"If he hadn't been shot, he'd have been dead in about ten more minutes anyways." He looked up at their startled faces. "He was poisoned."

"What?" Buffy grabbed the report that he handed her. His tox screens had come back that he had ingested a high concentrate of Malathion.

"Malathion? What is that?" Angel asked, reading over Buffy's shoulder.

"It's an insecticide, not seen that often here in the city. It's more commonly used in larger farmer communities. It takes quite a lot of the substance ingested at one time to cause death."

"Harmony had said that he had felt sick, he'd asked her for a glass of water."

"So ... is this overkill? Or is this two killers? Why poison someone if you're planning to shoot them? Maybe the poison wasn't working fast enough as the killer decided to hurry it along some?" She shook her head, staring at his body. "Poison is usually a woman's method of murder. It's cleaner, no blood. Her hands stay cleaner."

"You dig out the slug?" Angel asked.

"Yeah, turned it over to Ballistics at the Crime Lab. They said he'd run it for you and get back to you."

"Anything else you got?"

"Your victim recently had sex. Sperm found on the inside of his underwear and also a vaginal contribution. I took swabs and sent them to DNA." He smiled when Buffy patted him on the back.

"Thanks, you're the best."

Buffy hurried out the doors and was back at the car in record time. She took a deep breath of city fouled air, gratefully trading the hint of pollution for the purified circulated air inside that held the smell of chemical cleaners and death. No matter how much they perfumed it, it still smelled like death to her. "God, I hate that place," she muttered to herself.

Angel heard her and his hand itched to rest on her shoulder, to show her some support. He knew it wouldn't be welcome just as any comment made acknowledging he had heard her would be welcome. This girl hated weakness, in any form. She put up the front as tough and no nonsense and would damn anyone who thought otherwise. He remembered coming up on her, alone, sitting in her car that long ago weekend. She'd had her head down on the steering wheel. And when he'd knocked on the window, she'd looked up at him with tears shining out of those big golden green eyes. It was a case, a little girl, killed by her mother. The sight of the body, so young, had gotten to her. Angel had sat in the car, he'd talked her into a drink, then another. She had asked to go home with him, not wanting to be alone. She'd sleep on the couch. And then the nightmare and he'd come to the rescue again, but this time, he hadn't been a gentleman, had taken what her eyes had begged him to take. And their friendship had been damned.

"Wake up, Angel." Buffy waved her hand in front of his face making him realize he was standing on the sidewalk, just staring at her. "You were a hundred miles away. I asked if you wanted some coffee before we head back to the Mayor's."

"Yeah," he said softly. "Coffee would be nice."

"It'll give the CSI a chance to go and check out the gardener shack on the property," she said, unlocking the car. "And for them to run the DNA to see who our boy was making it with."

* * *

Buffy pulled into an all night diner that was a hangout for their precinct. At this time of the night, it was virtually deserted. There was a waitress sitting on a stool, resting her feet and refilling sugar shakers got up when they walked in. She brought over two mugs and a coffee pot, two menus stuffed under her arm. "Hey, Detectives. Quiet night?" she smiled as she plunked down the mugs on the table in front of them and filled them with coffee.

"Sure is." Buffy shook her head at the offer of the menu. "Just coffee, we've only got a few minutes."

"Okay, sugar. You two want anything else, just give me a yell." She walked away with the coffee pot and went back to filling her shakers.

"So what's got you so dazed, Angelus?" Buffy asked, her hands cupping the warm mug before bringing it to her lips. The first sip sent warmth through her and she sighed appreciatively.

"Honestly?"

"Yeah."

"You," he said. He twisted his mug around and then dumped a creamer into the murky liquid. "I keep trying to figure out what happened."

Buffy felt her heart pick up a beat and couldn't blame it on the caffeine. "We aren't talking about that weekend. We agreed."

"When did I agree? Because I don't happen to remember agreeing to that. I want to talk about it. I want..."

"I don't care what you want. I don't know why you are so all fired determined to bring it up." Buffy kept her voice low, shooting a worried glance over to see if the waitress was looking.

"And I don't know why you don't want to talk about it," he retorted, pitching his voice lower also as he noted the direction of her glance. "I think we were pretty fantastic together."

Buffy ruthlessly squashed the jump her pulse took at his words. "Were, Angel. It can't happen again." She took a drink of her coffee and stared at their reflections in the window. She could see the way he was looking at her, see how he was staring at her. She turned and put her hand on his for one second. "It was fantastic, better than anything I've known before, but between departmental rules and the problems cops have with relationships anyways, anything we started would be doomed." She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "It's just better we don't let it start."

"Better for who?" He stared down into his coffee, stirring it slowly. "I can't see how not finding out what can happen between us, where this thing we feel will go is better for either of us." He put down his spoon. "I've got feelings for you. A hell of a lot more than lust. I don't know if it's love because you won't give us the chance to find out. I think I deserve a better reason than departmental regs."

"We have a case. If you..." she stopped and took a deep breath. "If you don't think you can work this case with me, then maybe you should take yourself off of it."

The words that came out of his mouth were foul, strung in such a way that Buffy swore the air turned blue around his head. His eyes turned hard as he stared at her. "Buffy, I have sat back and let you run this case. I haven't said a thing. I have let you walk all over me, more than I've ever let any other woman do, because I thought it would be the right thing to do. I've kept away from you because I thought that was what you wanted."

"I di..." Buffy began only to be interrupted by a harsh growl.

"Shut up." He snapped the words out harshly. "This is my turn and you are going to sit there and listen. I'm done doing things your way. You don't kiss a man the way you kissed me back in that alley if you don't still feel something for him. And don't tell me it's lust, you and I both know there has to be something behind that lust to drive it that deep. When this case is done, you are going to dinner with me. We are going to find out what we have goddamnit."

Buffy's phone rang before she could reply and she snapped it open angrily. "Summers," she growled into the phone.

Angel looked down at the spoon he had in his hands, the spoon that was now just a twisted piece of metal. His breathing was still harsh and he could still feel the rage that she had provoked singing through his system. He took a drink of his coffee, hissing as it burned his tongue. And he blamed her for that as well.

"The daughter's prints were in the apartment. They also have semen stains on the sheets and they are looking for a vaginal contribution. The DNA came back no matches in the Combined DNA Index System. Their sending someone out to get samples from the family. The bullet wasn't in the Integrated Ballistics Identification System and they haven't found a 9mm at the Mayor's home. He isn't registered for one either." She slid her phone back into her pocket. "We should get over there, be there while they are taking those samples. And pick her up for questioning."

"Fine," he said, dropping some money on the table and standing up. "We'll work the case. But when it's done, we are going to talk this out."

Buffy just glared at him as she walked past him and out into the parking lot.

* * *

Winifred Burkle, a tech from the crime lab was waiting for them when they pulled up in front of the Mayor's home. Most of the cars were now gone, guests questioned and released by uniformed officers. Buffy already had their reports ... no one saw anything. A man was shot, a gun fired five times, and no one saw who's hand pulled the trigger. She sighed in disgust as she rang the doorbell.

The Mayor answered the door himself. He was dressed in a robe, slippers on his feet and a drink in his hand. "Detectives," he said in greeting. "Have you come to tell me who committed this horrible crime?"

"No sir," Buffy told him respectfully. "We have to get DNA samples from you and your family, hair samples too. And we need to get your wife and Harmony's fingerprints. Yours and Darla's are on file already."

"Can't this wait until morning? My family has been through hell tonight. A doctor had to sedate Harmony."

"I'm sorry, sir. It can't wait."

"Daddy?" Darla stood at the top of the stairs. "Is everything okay?"

"Get down here, these people need to get samples of your DNA," the mayor ordered his daughter tersely.

"For what?" There was a slight note of panic in her voice and Buffy picked it up quickly, feeling a little rush of adrenaline that her gut was right.

"We just need to be able to rule you out of the rest of the samples that we found here tonight," Fred said professionally, opening her silver case and pulling out a handful of boxed long swabs. "We have to find out who belongs so we can find out who doesn't." She opened one box, labeling it deftly with a pen before pulling the swab out and flipping open the plastic cap that protected the sterile cotton. Catching the mayor with his mouth half opened, she quickly swabbed the inside of his cheek, pushed the swab back down into the plastic and capped it before sliding it back into it's box. "It's that simple. If you'd be so kind as to come down here." Fred opened another box and pulled out the swab. "This just takes a second."

"I ... I don't think so." She looked ready to bolt.

"Darla, get your ass down here and get this done," the mayor's voice was harsh with his oldest daughter and Buffy almost felt sorry for her.

She came down the stairs reluctantly and parted her lips just the tiniest bit when the swab was held up. Fred took her chin in her hand and professionally opened her mouth, swabbed the cheek and flipped the cap over the swab. She put it back in its labeled box and then picked up a pair of tweezers and a small brown envelope. "Just a hair sample," she said and plucked a hair out of the girl's head before she could say yes or no.

While Fred labeled it, the mayor sent Darla back up to get his wife and other daughter.

* * *

Harmony came down the stairs, her eyes blurry, her speech slurred. Fred hurried and took the samples and then deftly printed her also.

The Mayor's wife, balked at the tests. "I don't understand, a crime was committed in my house and I'm being told I have to be fingerprinted and put on file? I'm not a criminal and I won't be treated like one in my home." The curvy brunette clutched her robe closer to her throat.

"Ma'am," Angel stepped in, his hands held out in front of him. "These are just steps that we take so that we can check your prints and your DNA against all the samples that we've retrieved from your home already. We need to be able to rule you out so that we can find the samples that don't belong. We don't wish to treat you like a criminal, ma'am."

"Well, I'm sorry, but no. That's the way I feel." She took another step away from the group.

"I can and will get a warrant for those specimens," Buffy said quietly, watching the woman's eyes. A hard gleam came over them and suddenly she wondered if she was looking at the wrong woman. Either way, she needed those samples and she was prepared to do what was necessary to get them.

"Go ahead, Detective, but until that time, I would prefer if you and your people would leave my home."

"Your home is a crime scene under my purview." Buffy turned and addressed the Mayor. "And while I wish no hardship to you or your family, Mayor, I could have you escorted off the premises until I have closed this case." There was no threat in her voice, she was stating facts the way she saw them. "I allowed you to stay since we have the crime scene taped off, but I will need reasonable access to the scene when I need to be here. My partner will call for that warrant, ma'am. And while we wait for it, I need to speak with your daughter."

"Can't you see she's in no shape to talk to you again tonight. Look at her, she can barely stand up," the mayor blustered as he wrapped his arm around his youngest.

"No, Mayor. Not Harmony. I need to talk to Darla."

"Me? What for? I barely knew William." Even though she hid it well, both Buffy and Angel heard the fear in her throaty voice.

Angel got on the phone, circling behind the group and standing behind Darla just in case while he waited for the Judge on call to answer his phone.

"If I might use your study once more Mayor?" Buffy asked politely. She waved Darla in front of her and was followed by Angel still on his phone.

"I ... I don't know what I could tell you about him. I only knew him through my sister." Darla sank down to sit on the edge of one of the leather chairs, her back ram rod straight as if she were ready to bolt at any time.

"Darla, I'm going to read you your rights, just as protection," Buffy said, pulling the Miranda card out of her jacket pocket. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to be speak to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during any questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be provided for you at government expense. Do you understand these rights as I have explained them to you?"

"I'm not an idiot," she said, her voice hostile. "What is this about? I barely knew him."

"For the record, I need you to answer my question. Do you understand these rights as I have explained them to you?"

"Yes, I understand. Now I want to know what this is about. William was Harmony's boyfriend, I barely said hello to the man."

"So you've never been to his apartment?" Buffy asked, her eyes sharp.

"Why would I go there? He's my sister's boyfriend," Darlaa stressed. "Her tastes in men are abysmal. They either simper around after daddy's money or they show off, trying to impress our father."

"So in which category did William Pratt belong in?" Angel asked, glancing at Buffy and giving her a nod after hanging up his phone.

"The former. The man gushed continuously." Darla rolled her eyes in disgust. "He worked in daddy's real estate offices, more as a gofer than anything else. He couldn't be trusted to show the houses. Daddy kept him on for Harm's sake because he knew she liked him. Why? Well I don't know."

"You sound like you really disliked the victim. If you loathed him as much as you say you do, why were your fingerprints found all over his apartment?"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four:

The quick look of shock in the blonde's eyes almost brought a smile to Buffy's lips. She managed to hide it as she waited for an answer.

"M-my fingerprints?"

"Yes, your fingerprints, Darla. In William Pratt's apartment. In his bedroom, on his nightstand. And I'm betting that your sister didn't know you were there either."

Darla stared back and forth wildly between the two detectives. Buffy wished she could hear what the woman was thinking. She had an idea it wouldn't be pleasant.

"I think I want a lawyer now," Darla said, her voice shrill.

"Fine, we'll have you transported downtown. Do you have your own lawyer or would you..." Buffy began.

"I'll get my own, thank you."

Buffy took her arm and escorted her out of the study. She allowed her to go upstairs to get dressed, accompanied by a female officer.

While they waited there was a knock on the door, another officer arrived with the warrant for the DNA samples needed from the mother along with another warrant for the clothing the family was wearing that evening.

Amidst much protesting, the warrants was served, the samples taken and the clothing gathered. Fred wrapped everything up and with a smile over at Buffy and Angel, left for the lab. They waited until Darla came back down, and, despite the fit thrown by the mayor, they put her in the back of a patrol car. Buffy and Angel followed, listening to Mayor Strauss screaming that he would have their badges, as they backed out of his driveway.

"Why are the rich so..." Angel couldn't think of the word he wanted to use.

"Spoiled," she supplied, following behind the patrol car that carried their suspect downtown. She parked in the garage under the headquarters building and followed Darla into the elevator that would take her to the interrogation rooms.

She took her into one of the rooms herself, a plain dingy rectangle of a room, a table bolted to the middle, four chairs pushed underneath it. The prerequisite two way mirror was across from where she sat Darla, but besides that, and the window in the door, the room was bare.

"Can I get you some coffee while we wait for your lawyer to show up?"

Darla stared with a hostile expression. "No," she said briefly and then stared out the small window in the door behind Buffy.

"Okay, then this officer will keep you company while you wait. As soon as your counsel arrives, I'll bring him right in." Buffy left, heading for the bull pen in homicide where her desk awaited her. Forms needed filling out, files updated and paperwork done so that when the lawyer did show up, everything would be dotted and crossed.

She never made it to her desk though.

"Summers!"

Buffy closed her eyes, wincing at the sound of her last name. She plastered on a smile as she turned to greet the man who was looking at her with murder in his eyes. "Hi Cap. You're in early." She looked behind him and saw Angel hurrying down the hall from the other direction.

"Fuck that. What is this I hear, you have the Mayor's daughter in interrogation? Are you nuts?" Captain had his arms waving in the air, pacing the floor in front of her. "I just walked in, went to my desk and the Mayor was on the phone. He wants your badges," he turned and saw Angel. "Both of your badges. So tell me why I shouldn't give them to him." He turned, his hair standing up on his head as if he'd been tugging at it. His tie was already crooked, the top button of his shirt undone.

"Cap, if we could go into your office..." she started to say.

"Damn straight. In my office, both of you, now!" He stormed away in front of them, muttering invectives.

Buffy glanced at Angel and caught his look of warning. He waved her into the office in front of him and followed her, shutting the door behind them.

The captain didn't offer them a seat and they didn't take one, standing in front of him like two school children in front of a principal. Buffy resented the feeling but she sucked it up and prepared to make her statement. "Cap, I haven't had time to get back to you or to write up my reports yet tonight."

"Just tell me what we got. Angel are you're running point on this?" The captain stared hard at him.

"Uh, no, Cap. It's her show. She was first on scene and she's been running point."

"So this is your fuck up then?" The captain asked her.

Buffy sent Angel a look of gratitude. She'd expected him to stand in front of her, to not let her take her knocks, but this was her show, and he'd backed off. "Yes, sir, if you want to call it a fuck up. Darla's fingerprints were found in the victim's apartment, sir, a place she swore to me, under oath, that she hadn't been." Buffy stressed the fact that they had mirandized the suspect. "That raises questions in my mind, sir. She also fought against having DNA taken. We found a vaginal contribution in the victim's underwear and also semen in the victim's sheets."

"Has any of this been run through the lab yet?" Cap asked, settling down behind his desk. He nodded both of them into the chairs in front of it.

"No sir, Winifred Burkle, from the crime lab had just finished taken samples right before we transported her out." Buffy settled down a little now that the Captain was listening instead of ranting about. "The victim was poisoned first, using an insecticide that wouldn't be used in everyday gardening. Then he was shot, point blank range. The pistol used hasn't been recovered as of yet but I still have people hunting the grounds and checking the house."

"You brought her in on the strength of a fingerprint only?"

"Fingerprints, sir. Throughout the apartment, the bedroom, the bedside table. She's been in that apartment more than once."

The captain sat and thought. He knew where she was leading but they needed the evidence, and to get it, she needed what they had in the lab. "Okay," he said slowly, nodding his head. "I'll let you run with this. Angel, you're there also. I want you to stall, keep her busy until you can prove she was having sexual relations with the victim. You might be able to use that to pull more out of her."

Buffy nodded, glanced over at Angel. He cocked his head to the side and gave her that lopsided smile that tore chunks out of her heart. "Let's go get em," he said.

They went down to the bullpen, sitting at her desk and writing up reports. She called the lab, trying to hurry her tests through DNA. They got word about an hour later that the attorney had arrived.

"I'm surprised he gave us this long," Buffy said as she pulled her file together and got ready for the interview.

"Yeah, I thought for sure the Mayor would have been pounding down doors getting someone here. I'm betting he thought he could brow beat the Captain into dismissing what we have." Angel picked up some paperwork of his own and grabbed the manila envelope that contained their crime scene photos.

Buffy grabbed her cup of the noxious brew the coffee pot in the bullpen put out and headed down to interrogation, feeling the hint of adrenaline that the chase of the subject always brought out in her. She was revved for this interview.

Buffy opened the door, noting that Darla's counsel was one of the most highest paid attorneys in town. Of course, she hadn't expected any less, and she had been up against him before. The last time, in court when he was trying to get his scum bag client off on murdering his girlfriend with a piano wire. The man had the matching length of piano wire in his pocket at the time of the arrest.

Lindsey McDonald was a good attorney, sharp, smooth and quick. He checked all angles before making a move, knew his way around the court house and the who's who of judges. He kept up on all the latest gossip as well as all the latest developments in the law. And he worked his tail off when it came to making money.

"Lindsey McDonald," Buffy said in greeting when she walked into the interrogation room. She looked Darla over, noting that the wait hadn't been a good one for her. Her hair was mussed and one of the buttons on her blouse looked as if she'd been pulling at it, the material bunched and stretched around it. She was nervous, though she was trying to hide it.

Buffy sat her file and her coffee mug down on the table, pulling a chair out for herself. Angel sat next to her, handing her the manila envelope full of photos. None of what they had were they planning on using right now. It was just smoke, to make it look as if they had more.

"Did you change you mind on the coffee, Darla?" Buffy asked solicitously. "Water? Anything?"

"Just for you to stop your nonsense and let me out of here," the blonde said viciously. "I haven't done anything that warrant..."

"Darla," the slick attorney butted in. "Remember what I told you."

She crossed her arms in front of her and under her breasts and stared mutinously at Buffy, who smiled back at her.

"You have nothing on my client to call for this trip, Detectives. And unless you can provide any evidence to the contrary, I'm going to advise my client to get up and leave."

"Your client is being held under suspicion of murder, counselor. She has been read her rights and that is why you were brought in to begin with. She lied under oath, disclaiming any knowledge of the victim's apartment when her fingerprints were found throughout the place."

Lindsey leaned over and whispered into his client's ear, the one sided conversation taking no more than thirty seconds. Darla shrugged and shifted her gaze towards Angel, her eyes raking over him before settling just over his shoulder.

"My client wishes to revise her statement. She was having an affair with one William Pratt, an affair that she carried on behind her sister's back. That is why her fingerprints were found in the victim's home."

"Would you client also like to explain to us this?" Buffy pulled out a sheet of paper that held some script writing on it. "This is a copy of a journal entry that we found in the victim's bedroom, his journal. The journal he used to keep track of his women and his schemes. And I quote: She'll be over in a little while, that bitch. She thought she could stiff me. I'll show her. She doesn't want me going to her big time daddy, she'd better bring me the money and be ready to fuck me. Once you get her clothes off of her, she's one sweet little slut in the sack. Course she don't got the curves of her sister, Harmony. Or her momma, but she can really move those skinny little hips."

"Do you have any other sisters, Darla?"

"All that proves is that Mr. Pratt was blackmailing my client, for both sex and money. It proves that she is nothing but a victim in all of this too." Lindsey leaned back in his chair, his hand going to his client's shoulder, sympathy oozing from him like slime.

"What it does is show motive. Doesn't it Darla? Did it piss you off, to have to sleep with a man you thought so far beneath you? To sleep with your sister's boyfriend, a man you considered scum? What was he holding over you? If there was blackmail involved, what was he going to tell your father about? I've got the crime lab over at his apartment right now, tearing that place apart. They'll find it. You know they will. Wouldn't it just be smarter for you to tell us now?"

"It wasn't like that..." Darla blurted out, sitting up a tad bit straighter. "That bastard, he deserved..."

Lindsey's hand clamped down hard on her shoulder.

"What did he deserve? Did he deserve to die, to suffer for what he put you through?"

"I want a moment to confer with my client," Lindsey spoke up, staring Darla in the eyes to keep her from speaking. He leaned forward and whispered in her ear waiting for her nod. When she did, he looked to Buffy. "Is this all you have, some fingerprints that my client has explained and the ramblings of a man who's addictions were well known?"

"Is that what your client is saying this is? A series of ramblings, something that William Pratt just made up? You think he just made all of this up, Darla? And you expect me to believe that?" Buffy put all the disbelief she could muster into her voice. "You have to be kidding me. Do you think I'm stupid?" She pulled out the pictures of the crime scene, pictures of the body, close ups of his face. "Next you're going to tell me he's sleeping here."

"You're badgering my client, this interview is at an end." Lindsey stood and grabbed Darla's arm to help her up.

"Your client shot a man at point blank range in cold blood," Buffy said, standing now also.

"Are you charging her with murder?"

Buffy slammed down the file folder on the table, making her empty coffee mug jump. "No, not yet," she said in disgust. She stared into Darla's eyes as the woman rose. "But I know that the evidence I need is there. And you had better believe that when I find it, you'll be back here and I hope you'll be ready to talk."

Neither Darla or Lindsey spoke another word, simply rising and leaving the room. Buffy waited until the door was closed before she whirled and kicked one of the chairs, sending it flying. "Dammit!"

Angel sat back, calmly studying his nails. "You didn't really expect her to jump up and admit to it, did you?"

Buffy grabbed the chair she kicked, spinning it around and straddling it, letting her forehead drop to rest against the back. "No," she grumped. "But it would have been nice."

He chuckled. "Yeah, it would have. So, what do you want to do next?"

Buffy banged her forehead lightly against the metal back of the chair a couple of times and then looked up at him. "I want to hit the lab, see if they've gotten anything new they can give me. And then I want to go back out to the mayor's house. I want to look for that gun myself."

"You know the mayor's going to go sky high when he sees you again. He might even have a stroke."

"Yeah, well every dark cloud has a silver lining, right?" She grinned.

* * *

They struck out at the lab, the DNA lab was backed up, ballistics was tied up with another shooting across town. Discouraged, Buffy grabbed a couple of flashlights and they headed back to the mayor's house.

The deputy at the door greeted them with a smile. "He's not going to be happy to see you," he said as she signed herself in.

"Yeah, now tell me something that I don't know." Buffy knocked on the door, then rang the bell, waiting until it was finally answered.

The mayor, dressed in a finely tailored, expensively cut suit opened the door. When he saw her, he started to close the door, swore and then swung the door opened wide. "This is close to harassment, you do know that right?" He growled.

"No sir. We're here to do another search of a crime scene, not to bother you or your family." Buffy stepped past him, ignoring the scowl as she clicked on her flashlight.

She started by the dark red stain that marked where the body had lain. Using the flashlight, she peered inside of every space she could think of that would be big enough to hide a gun. Soon she was on the ground, checking under furniture, looking inside of fireplaces, going through trash cans already gone through by the crime scene techs.

Angel joined her, taking half of every room and going through it as thoroughly as Buffy was herself. They worked in silence, punctuated occasionally by a slamming of a cupboard door or a quietly hissed curse. They were almost finished with the ground floor when one of the uniforms came up. "You've got a CSI person here looking for you," he said quietly, sending a glance to where the mayor and his family sat gathered together.

"Send them in," Buffy said, wiping her forehead with the back of a latex covered hand.

Fred came in smiling. "It sure does my heart good to see Detectives in gloves with flashlights. Gives you a taste of my life," she said, laughing as Buffy narrowed her eyes at her. "I figured good news is always happy news and you'd love to see this immediately. These are copies of the ones I sent to your desk." She held out a manila folder and Buffy took it, eagerly opening it and scanning the contents.

"Fred, I think I might love you," she said, smiling and waving Angel over. She handed him the file and leaned close to CSI girl. "You want to stay for the fireworks?"

"Want me to call in your back up?" Fred asked her back.

She walked to the door while Angel and Buffy peeled off their latex gloves. Angel held the file in his hands, reading as he walked. As they approached, the mayor stood, taking a step towards Buffy. "Are you satisfied yet?" he asked, his voice hostile. "You come into our house, question our children and interrupt our privacy. And you still have no idea who killed Pratt."

"Actually, sir," Buffy said. "That isn't quite true. William Pratt was poisoned using a chemical insecticide that was found out in your garden shed. We recovered fingerprints off of that bottle and also off a glass that contained the poison and Mr. Pratt's DNA. There were two sets of prints on the glass and one set on the bottle, besides those of the gardener."

Buffy turned to the mayor's wife. "Your prints. I'm putting you under arrest for the murder of William Pratt."

The mayor stared at his wife in confusion.

"Not quite, mayor." Buffy took the file from Angel as an officer went to handcuff the mayor's wife. "Her prints were a bit of a mystery. They came back as belonging to a Gwendolyn Post from Little Rock, Arkansas. She's wanted for fraud, grand theft auto and a number of other pesky little crimes. I guess we can add identity theft as well because the woman that she claimed to be before you married her, mayor, is a 98 year old grandmother in Witchita Falls, Texas."

The mayor, his legs giving out from under him, plopped down on the couch next to Harmony. His mouth was opened but no sound came out. He could only stare at the woman whom he had married five years earlier, who had been a step mother to his daughters.

"Our lab did a test on the clothing that you were wearing at your party last night. It checks for the presence of GSR on hands or materials. We found gun shot residue on Darla's clothing."

Darla just stared at her for a moment, her eyes inscrutable. Before Buffy could move, she jumped up and knocked over a potted palm tree that was sitting in the corner. Reaching into the broken planter, she pulled out a 9mm and pointed it at Buffy. "You bitch!" she screamed, pulling the trigger.

Buffy reached for her gun and felt the impact almost at the same time. She felt herself falling and wondered why there wasn't the pain she had always thought she would feel when she was shot. She wanted to look at Angel, to see him one last time if this was going to be the end. She hit the ground with a thud and laid there, hearing a groan and then hearing more shots above her.

There was a scream, loud, blood curdling and then the sound of running feet. Buffy rolled, her hands feeling for the wound, confused when she couldn't find it.

Then she looked and felt her blood turn cold.

"A-Angel?"

He was laying on his side, facing away from her. He was so still.

Buffy felt a scream lodge in her throat. She crawled toward him, her hands touching him gently, carefully. "Angel? Please, God. Angel?" She rolled him toward her and saw the blood on his jacket, his eyes closed in a pale face. Her hand went to his throat, feeling for a pulse. "Oh, thank you, God," she hissed as she felt it there, beating strongly under her fingers. She pulled his coat free, then his shirt, searching for his wound. High in his shoulder, a nasty ragged hole bled thickly. She pulled off her jacket and reached for the quilt that lay on the back of the couch just above them. Pulling it down, she laid it against the wound and pushed down hard, trying to control the flow of blood.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five:

Angel moaned, pain breaking through the haze of unconsciousness. His eyes fluttered and he strained away from the hands that were poking at him. "No," he groaned, trying to push the person away.

"Angel," Buffy's voice stopped him. He found her kneeling over him, her bloody hands pushing some cloth at his should and causing him the pain. "Can you hear me?"

"Yeah," he said irritably. "You want to get off of me?"

"No," she said. "You're bleeding. We've got an ambulance on the way." She leaned closer. "Why'd you jump in front of me? Why'd you push me like that?"

He stared into her eyes, seeing the soft green sheen, the slight mist of unshed tears. "Why do you think? I couldn't stand by and watch you get hurt or worse."

* * *

Ambulances arrived, one loading Angel into the back, the other was for Darla. She'd been shot twice by the other officers, once in the arm, the other in the shoulder. She'd live to stand trial for murder.

Buffy followed the gurney to the ambulance.

"Where do you think you're going? You have a scene to take care of and a case to close." He tried to grin at her. "You don't think I'm doing the paper work for this one do you?"

"But," she started to say.

"No, go to work. I'm fine." He smiled as they loaded him, gritting his teeth when the gurney lurched as it locked into place.

Buffy watched as the doors were closed and the ambulance took off, lights flashing, sirens sounding when it reached the road. Looking down at her hands, she was amazed to see them shaking and felt a shudder climb her spine. Through sheer will, she shook it back, took a deep breath, and went to work, just as the sun was coming up over the trees.

By the time she'd cleared the scene, written her report and briefed the Captain, it was close to lunchtime. She'd just finished reading the last of the paperwork on Darla. She'd been protecting her father. William Pratt had been planning on blackmailing the mayor. He would marry Harmony unless the mayor was willing to pay him off. Darla had found out about the plot, overhearing a phone conversation between Pratt and Willy Barr. Instead of going to her father with the news, she'd wanted to prove herself to him. So she'd gone to Pratt's apartment, had sex with him to try to get her own blackmail against him. Her plan had backfired though. William Pratt was now going after Darla as well, a tape of their rather raunchy night together turning up.

Darla had been desperate.

Buffy sat at her desk, going over the few last details and the final bit of paperwork when her phone rang. "Yeah? Summers."

"Detective Summers? This is Jenny Calendar down at County General Hospital. I've been asked to call you regarding a Detective Liam Angelus."

"How is he?" Buffy asked, unable to keep the anxiety out of her voice. She'd been wanting to check on him all morning but had been afraid to seem too ... something.

"Detective, I think you need to get down here. As soon as you can."

"Is he okay?"

"If you could get down here, Detective, I don't wish to discuss his condition over the phone."

With that, Buffy grabbed her keys and slid her 9mm duty weapon back into it's holster as she stood. "I'm on my way," she said into the phone before shutting it and sliding it into her pocket.

* * *

Buffy stomach was in her throat for the entire fifteen minute trip across town. She didn't know what she would do if he were dead. She fought back tears as she realized he meant more to her than she could ever have imagined he would.

She pulled into the emergency parking lot, slipping her car into a slot close to the door and putting down it's on duty shield. She almost ran to the entrance.

"Buffy?"

Her name didn't register but the sound of his voice did. She stopped, her feet sliding on the smooth concrete and almost sending her into the glass doors of the hospital. Turning, she saw him sitting there on the half wall that surrounded the greenery, his feet hanging, a big grin on his pale face.

"In a hurry?"

She walked toward him, her eyes narrowed as she studied his still pale face. "I thought you were..." She shook her head. "I don't know what I thought. I just got a call saying I should get down here, that you were... Wait, they wouldn't tell me how you were."

"No, of course not. That was my friend Jen, she's one of the kitchen staff. She called you for me." The smile left his face as she abruptly turned away and started stomping back toward her car. "Hey, wait," he called.

"You son of a bitch!" Furious with him for scaring her, with herself for letting herself feel something for a man who could be so cruel, she turned. Only the blood stained jacket kept her from knocking him to the ground. "How could you do that to me?"

He took in her strained face, her tensed posture and felt like a heel. "I'm sorry, Buf. I didn't mean to scare you, I guess I didn't even think about that. My phone's dead and I asked Jen if she'd give you a call for me. I didn't think she'd scare you like that. I need a ride home."

"What are you doing out anyway? You were shot."

"Through and through. I signed myself out." He started moving towards her car, stopping when she just stood there and stared at him. "You coming? I'd offer to drive but..." he lifted the arm slightly that was in the sling.

She hurried over and unlocked his door, watching him slide into the seat with a pained grunt. He smiled up at her as she leaned over him, buckling him into his seat.

"Thanks."

She got in the car and pulled out, heading back towards his apartment. He settled back against the seat and closed his eyes.

* * *

"Angel?"

He woke to her beautiful green eyes staring up at him from where she crouched next to his seat with the car door open. "Hey beautiful," he stretched a little and then groaned from the pulling in his wounds. "How long was I asleep?"

"About twenty minutes," she said, standing after she released his seat belt.

He shifted his weight to get out and felt torn muscles scream in protest. Buffy was there in an instant, taking his good arm and helping him stand. He stood there for a moment feeling a little foolish. "I've never been shot before, didn't know it would hurt this bad."

"The doc give you any pain killers?" Buffy let him wrap his good arm around her and lean against her.

"Yeah, in my pocket along with a couple of others. After he gave me a lecture about leaving." He chuckled and then groaned. "I told him you'd come and take care of me, that's the only way I got out." The look she gave him made him grin but she didn't say anything as she helped him into his complex and then into the elevator. She pressed the button for his floor and then stood there with him. "So, what happened after my wonderful exit this morning?"

"Well, Darla is going to be fine. She'll be ready for transfer to jail in a week or so. She hid the pistol in a pot, dammit. And the crime scene team missed it."

"We missed it too," he reminded her.

"Yeah, it looked like a single pot to me. I guess next time, we move it and see."

The elevator opened onto his floor and a couple started to get on, stopping when they saw the blood on Angel's shoulder. Buffy could hear them whispering behind her as she helped him down the hall towards his apartment door.

He got his keys out and handed them to her when they got to the apartment. She helped him in and shut the door behind them. Walking into that apartment with him sent memories rushing through her. She could almost see herself, dressed in only his shirt teasing him as they sat and ate fruit salad before hopping into the shower together.

She saw him watching her, a speculative look in his eyes.

"Where do you want to be?" she asked him quietly.

"Bed sounds pretty good," he said. "So did you find out the why?"

"Yeah," She said, helping him through the bedroom door. She sat him on the edge of the bed and started to take off his jacket, emptying out his pockets onto his dresser and setting his pill bottles next to the bed. "Our William had quite a scam going. He was sleeping with the mother and blackmailing her with videotapes that he threatened to take to her husband. She got to the point that she was desperate."

"And what about Darla?" he asked, trying to take his mind off the fact that her hair still smelled like her shampoo, a subtle flowery scent that he couldn't help but notice as she knelt down in front of him to unbutton his shirt.

"Darla," Buffy began, stopping to clear her throat. He was getting to her, being this close, undressing him, coming so close to losing him. She took a deep breath to settle herself a little and instead felt herself surrounded by him as his scent invaded her senses. Her hands stilled on his buttons, her eyes sought out his. "I thought you were dea." She touched his face with her finger tips. "I thought you were dead and I couldn't breath, I couldn't think."

"Oh," he said softly, his good hand burying itself in her hair, dislodging the band she used to tie it back so that it flowed in long curls over her shoulders. "I couldn't just stand there when I saw her with that gun on you. I..." He let his forehead rest against her, his eyes closing as he savored her nearness. "I'm in love with you, Buffy Summers."

Angel waited for her to pull away, to leave after his confession and was startled to feel her soft lips touch his own instead. She kissed him, gently, tenderly, rising up to steady herself with her hands on his thighs as his good hand settled around her, pulling her closer. Their lips clung, not a kiss of passion, though that hovered near to the surface, but a kiss of devotion, of recognition, of love.

The kiss lingered until she moved, trying to get closer and jostled his arm. He pulled away with a moan and a shaky laugh. "So much for romance," he said.

"I'm sorry."

The look on her face, half chagrin, half sympathy, made him laugh again. "Tell me you love me and I'll forgive you," he said, teasing her.

"I do. I can't believe it. I did what I promised myself I wouldn't do and fell in love with you." She looked into his eyes. "You jerk," she said, without any heat. She shook her head and then her hands went back to the buttons on the front of his shirt, slowly finishing the task of getting it off his bandaged shoulder.

"Jerk?" he asked, his hand covering hers.

Buffy smiled up at him but there was more in her eyes, fear, sadness as well as the love he knew she had for him. "You know as well as I do that a relationship with a cop just doesn't work. It's statistics. I love you," she looked away and then back at him, a small smile on her lips. "I never thought I'd say those words to you out loud. I love you."

"Then let's let tomorrow take care of itself. All we can do is work today, you know that." He kissed her softly. "I look in my future, love, and I don't see it without you in it, by my side, meeting whatever challenges we have to face. I want you." He kissed her again. "I want you in my life. And in my heart," he said punctuating every statement with a kiss. "And in my arms, and in my bed." He dragged her against him as he deepened the last kiss, pulling her tightly to the side that didn't hurt. His tongue lapped at the seam of her mouth, teasing until she opened her lips under his and danced her tongue across his own, tangling and tempting until he tore his mouth off of hers. "I want you, Buffy," he groaned in her ear. "Come to bed with me."

"I can't believe you," she said softly as she pulled his shirt off his shoulder, staring at the bandages that covered his shoulder and wrapped around his chest. "You were shot this morning, and now you want to make love with me?" She reached down and slipped off his shoes, pulling his socks gently off his long, slender feet.

Helping him lie back, she laughed when he took her hand and placed it on the long length of his hard shaft through his pants. "I guess I still have enough blood in me for this, but it's making me a bit dizzy. You might have to do most of the work." He grinned up at her unrepentantly.

She squeezed gently and listened to him moan, felt his hips jerk a little under her hand as she stroked him. Then she reached for his belt, undoing it and his pants and helping him pull them off. He lay there in, clad in only a pair of boxers, his erection unashamedly tenting the front. She couldn't help but laugh at him. "Only you, Angelus. I swear you are unlike any man I've ever known before." She pulled off her own jacket, draping it across a chair then pulled off her holster rig, laying it gently on top of the jacket. Kicking off her boots, she stood in front of him, her hands untucking the soft cotton tee shirt she had pulled on yesterday.

His eyes never left her, watching her hands as she pulled the shirt over her head and off of her hair, tossing it on top of her weapon. Her bottoms came next, leaving her in a white lace bra and tiny white satin panties. He couldn't help but stare as his heart started beating even faster. She looked so wanton, her hair streaming over her bare shoulders, her green eyes half closed as she watched him back.

Angel held his hand out to her, and she took it, climbing over him carefully to kneel beside him. Her hair flowed around them as she bent to kiss him, her lips claiming him as her mate, as her other half, branding him with her passion and her love. His hand curled at her waist, then slid upward, cupping one lace covered breast. He molded the shape of it to his hand, hearing her sigh as his thumb brushed over an engorged nipple.

Her hand went to the side of his face, sliding over his cheek to curl around his ear, her fingers twining his soft hair between them. It slid down his neck and over his chest, careful of his shoulder before stroking across and down over his firmly muscled stomach. He sucked in his breath when it snuck under the waist band of his boxers, finding and claiming the heated, aroused flesh of his cock.

It was so soft, so smooth around his hardness and he felt her tremble a little as she stroked him. His breath caught in his throat, his heart raced as she brushed her thumb across its swollen head, gathering the drops of precum she excited from him, smoothing it down and over his cock to lubricate as she stroked him.

He tore his mouth from hers. "God, Buffy. You've got to stop," he moaned huskily, almost laughing as she continued to drive him closer so easily. "I won't last much longer, baby."

She released him with almost a sigh of disappointment, pulling her hand out from inside his boxers. Sitting up, she watched his eyes as she brought her hand to her mouth, licking her fingers of the taste of him, sucking one inside between her soft lips.

"God, you are just so beautiful," he groaned again, unable to take his eyes off of the look in those misty green eyes, half closed in passionate pleasure. He watched as she reached behind herself, unhooking her bra and letting it fall down her arms. It landed across his stomach and she slid it across him to drop it over the edge of the bed. Her hands rose to her breasts, squeezing them, running her hands over her hard nipples, her fingers pulling and twisting as she bit her lip and closed her eyes in pleasure.

Buffy slid one hand down the firm smoothness of her stomach and inside the waistband of her panties to dip her fingers into the heated flesh between her thighs. She'd never done this before, never wanted to before now. Watching his dark eyes, the heat in them, the need, the desire he felt sent a wave of wet warmth to flood over her fingers, which just excited her more.

She slipped her fingers out, letting them play over his lips, feeling him mouth open and close around her finger, tasting her as she had tasted him. Pulling away, she slid off the panties and then hooked her fingers in the waistband of his boxers, carefully pulling them down so she didn't jar his injuries.

His cock sprang free, the air cool around the length of it as she finished pulling the rest of his clothing off of his feet, kissing the top of his foot before dropping the clothing to the floor. Straddling his legs, she crawled her way up him, her eyes never leaving his as she dragged her beautiful breasts over his cock, then his stomach, stopping before she got close to his wound.

Buffy kissed him, drugging him with long tastes of her mouth, teasing him with little nips of her teeth, nibbling and enticing him until his hips moved against the smooth skin of her hips. She loved this power, this feeling of being able to drive him mad with her body, to make him need her, to have him love her. "I love you, Angel," she whispered against his lips as his good hand found her hips, dragging her over him.

"I need to be inside of you."

He words sent another rush of warmth through her, moisture weeping from between passion swollen lips. She took his cock in her hand, holding it still for her possession and slid over him, encasing him in the hot, wet satiny walls. Buffy sat up, taking him fully inside of her, feeling herself stretch around him, delicate flesh singing in delight. Her eyes closed as she started to move, long, smooth, slow strokes.

The light from the window shone over the bed, highlighting her loveliness as she rode him. Her hair cascaded around her, clinging to her skin as passionate sweat began to form from her exertions. His hand sought the beauty of her mound, his thumb parting blonde curls to sink into her wetness, finding the pearled knot of her clit and stroking it gently.

She could barely breathe, passion soaked pleasure rolled through her body from where they were connected as his cock plundered her depths. Shivers shuddered through her even as she reached for more, begged for it with every panting gasp. Her hands pushed hair back from her face, skimmed over her shoulders and down to her breasts, pulling on nipples that begged to be touched.

Buffy could hear his moans. Her eyes flew open watching his face twist as he fought to stave off the orgasm she knew was building in his loins. She leaned over him, grinding into his pubic bone. Her mouth found his for a second, then trailed to his ear.

"Come for me, baby. Make me come."

Angel grabbed her hip with his good hand, yanking her down hard against him, his hips pushing up as he felt the heat flow from his cock. It jerked inside of her as he came, sheets of ecstasy sending streams of cum shooting inside of her. She pulsed around him, her muscles tightening as she found her own delicious release, her cry in his ear goading him on more.

She collapsed, half on him, her breathing as ragged as his own. Her body felt half dead, even as pleasurable little tremors still ravaged it.

He turned his head, his eyes barely opened, meeting her own gaze. "I love you," he whispered.

She opened her mouth and then closed it as her phone, laying on the bedside table, rang. With a sigh, she managed to disentangle herself, pulling away from him with a soft moan. Buffy grabbed the phone, flipping it open and biting back a sigh of disgust when she saw the precincts number on the caller ID. "Summers," she snapped into the phone. She listened for a moment, glanced over at Angel. "Yeah, I'll be right in."

"What is it," JAngel asked when she closed the phone and looked on the floor for her underwear.

"419, with suspicious circs, in the alley behind the Bowling Emporium." She pulled on her clothing.

Angel struggled to sit up, letting his legs fall over the side of the bed.

"Where do you think you're going?" Buffy asked, staring at his struggles with amusement.

"With you." He barely caught the moan that tried to slip out of him.

"I don't think so. I think you'll be sitting this one out," she said, lifting his legs to put them back on the bed. She covered him with the sheet, got him a glass of water to take his pills with. "I'll check in on you later. And if you're good, I might even be willing to tell you what the case is."

* * *

Author's Note: Thanks for reading. This will be the final chapter for this story. More to come soon, hope you'll continue to enjoy.


End file.
